


A Chance for Change

by bekla_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Battle, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I started this a long time ago and decided to post it on here now, Instead of Thor: The Dark World, Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bekla_writes/pseuds/bekla_writes
Summary: Darkness is falling.  And it has pulled Freya Ericsson out of her everyday college life and into the realm of the Norse Gods.During their hunt for what the Dark Elves call The Amethyst, Malekith decides to take Freya along with them for reasons only he knows. They leave Earth and continue their search on Asgard.  Saved by none other than Loki, the God of Mischief himself (but only because he was forced to), this pit stop leads to Freya waking up, battered and bruised in the healing wing, with a worried Thor staring at her.As she journeys through the world she thought was a myth, Freya learns things she never thought she would about herself and the world she thought she knew. An angry, mischievous God wants her dead—or does he? She really has no idea. The only thing she does know, though, is that Malekith wants her back, and this time he has no intention of losing her.





	1. Prologue

Loki lies, one leg bent, on the day bed that sits in the middle of his cell in the dungeons of Asgard. A book is propped up against his bent leg and he stares at it, rereading the same page he has been trying to get through for the last hour or so. His other arm is resting behind his head, only leaving its place to flip the pages, which it hasn't done in quite a while. Little prickles begin to run their way down from his elbow, so he sits up, puts his book down and makes a fist. Something is going to happen today. He could tell from the minute he awoke that morning. The air was thick with impending destruction. But what kind of destruction, Loki still doesn't know.

The prisoners around him know too. Subconsciously, anyway. They've been fidgeting all day and, around noon, it had begun to grate on his nerves, so he'd decided to read in an attempt to ignore the aggravating rustling caused by too many people shoved in too small spaces.

Loki looks around at the others who seem to have grown even more restless in the last minute or two as he massages the pins and needles out of his arm. Some pace, some speak quietly to one another through the golden fields confining them to their cells and others call out to the guards that walk up and down the corridor. But the God of Mischief sits quietly, eyes squinted slightly, watching, waiting.

One guard who had been pacing between the cells halts in front of Loki’s.

“Well?” Loki asks lowly, not looking up.

“What has everyone so anxious?” the guard asks.

"Perhaps they've finally decided they've had enough sitting around, being trapped in small cells," the god snarls.

The guard doesn't say anything else. But he also doesn't move.

" _Well?!"_ Loki demands, standing.

"I do not require anything more.

"Then scurry along," Loki mutters. "I'm sure you'll be needed elsewhere quite soon."

The guard frowns, shrugs, then continues down the aisle.

A moment later, there is a crash at the end of the hall as the metal doors slam open. A guard rushes in and runs over to the one who Loki had just spoken to. The two begin talking quietly and Loki, still standing, positions himself so that he can catch at least some of the conversation.

He smirks. Heimdall has sensed a disturbance; someone is coming, but they are invisible.

A prisoner across from Loki's cell chuckles and he looks up to see a Dark Elf watching him, a grin pulling the corners of his lips up.

“What are you laughing at, elf?” asks one of the guards. In response, the elf just smiles wider.

The two guards mutter a few more words to each other. Then both hurry down the corridor and out the door.

Loki walks slowly to the edge of his cage, hands clasped behind his back.

“I believe,” he starts, “that we have something in common.”

“I have nothing in common with you, banished Prince,” the Elf sneers.

Loki purses his lips. “We both wish to leave this place, do we not?”

The elf says nothing.

"I thought so," Loki says, smiling a little. "Now, I believe that you know what all the commotion is about, though I must commend you on how easily you can hide it."

"I take no interest in fretting or pacing," the elf says.

"Well, good for you." Loki pulls a chair close to the barrier, making sure to not touch it, and sits down. "Since we both desire freedom, and both seem, at the very least, decently intelligent, I think it would be in both our favors if we worked together."

"Together?" the elf scoffs. "I'm a _Dark Elf_ and would never stoop so low as to cooperate with an Asg—"

"You'll be very happy to know that I am not of Asgard." Loki smiles again, but this time it doesn't reach his eyes.

The elf sits back, crossing his arms. "Very well. What do you have in mind, Loki of _not_ -Asgard?"

The God of Mischief and Lies grins. "First, you tell me what is happening above. And then I will tell you how we can wield it to both our advantages."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently listening to:
> 
> Private Eyes  
> by  
> Lenachka

I sit in a small, warm corner of one of the many Starbucks in New York City, a fire roaring in the fireplace beside me. Erasing the eye I've been drawing and redrawing for the last ten minutes, I glance over at my laptop lying closed on a table beside my seat. It stares back at me, reminding me that I should be typing an English paper. Next to my laptop is a cup of hot chocolate, untouched as I've been attempting to make this eye perfect for the last hour or so. It's probably cold by now, neglected like my English paper. (But to be perfectly honest, I'd rather fail miserably at drawing my art project than write that stupid paper anyway.)

Sighing, I erase most of the eye again and sit back. I look around as I adjust my earbuds. Outside it's rainy, windy and grossly September. I pick up my cup and take a sip, catching myself just as I'm about to spit it out all over my paper. Hot chocolate should never be lukewarm, let alone cold. I get up, throw away the rest and force myself to swallow the stuff in my mouth, grimacing. At least the grainy, separated cocoa is, of course, _cocoa_ and tastes good.

More people trickle in as it gets close to the end of the workday; the doorbell dings as they walk in. When I realize the new crowd are people I go to school with, I try to blend in to my corner as much as possible. I turn my music up louder and slump down in my seat, making sure to face away from them. Finally deciding that I'm hidden enough, I pick up my pencil and continue attempting to draw an eye. Really, how hard can it be? It's just a slightly pointed oval with circles in it. And then add just a whole lot more detail, and _boom._ Perfectly drawn eye.

After a few more minutes of me drawing, of people laughing and talking, there's a far-off crash. I ignore it, assuming someone just dropped a mug of coffee or something. But then then there’s another, this one much louder and _much_ closer. Someone screams, and another person screams, and all of a sudden Starbucks is full of the sounds of shrieks and scraping chairs. I pull my earbuds out and look up to see the shattered windows scattered around the floor. The frame of the glass door hangs off one hinge, and the glass is no longer there, gleaming on the floor with the window panes.

Some people are backed against the wall while others run towards the door, trying to escape from whatever is happening.

_What_ is _happening?_

When they get to the empty door frame they freeze, scream bloody murder and run back inside.

With a rising sense of panic, I throw my sketchbook and phone in my messenger bag and pull the strap over my head. I remember the pepper spray and pocket knife I keep in the outside pocket, and fumble for the spray as I duck behind my chair. I know I need to hide from whoever, or whatever broke the windows and door. Just as I crouch down, two tall men appear in the doorway. The quick glance I get of them is enough to make out some distinguishing features: both have pale white skin and _pointed ears_. The first one has long silver hair and weird silver eyes. The other, who stands farther back, is wearing an expressionless mask that makes it look like he doesn't have eyes. They look... _evil_.

Unable to stop myself, I peer around the edge of the chair to make out more of these weird people. They look like two super tall basketball players going to a Cosplay convention, and I don't know what Cosplay it is, but they nailed it. The one without the mask wears a spiked helmet and silver chest plate and leg guards and just looks generally terrifying. Then he speaks.

"Where is the one known as Freya?" he asks. His voice is deep, with a strange accent, and when he talks it sounds like more than one person speaking at once.

No one says anything, and I don't move. Something about them tells me I shouldn't... It could be the fact that these complete strangers know my name, or the fact that they look freaking creepy.

" _ANSWER ME, MORTALS!_ " the guy bellows, causing the crowd of people to take a step back.

A girl lets out a strangled scream as the...elf?...picks her up. He throws her against the wall, and she smashes into it with a sickening crack. Through the crack between the chair and the wall, I see her slide to the floor; she doesn't get up.

I let out a small gasp. The elf guy turns and starts walking towards my hiding place.

_Shit shit shit!_ I crouch down as far as I can and press myself against the chair, squeezing my eyes shut.

_If you can't see him, he can't see you,_ a small part of me whimpers. A large, cold hand reaches down and wraps itself around the front of my leather jacket... I guess I've scientifically disproved _that_ theory _._

The guy pulls me out from my hiding place and holds me up to his eye level. He's so tall that my feet dangle a good two feet above the ground. I try to conceal a whimper as he shakes me and speaks.

"What is your name, girl?"

"Abby."

"Don't lie to me," he spits.

"No! I'm not! I'm Abigail. Abigail Joan Adams! Please don't-"

"I can tell when I'm being lied to, Freya Ericsson."

Well, _shit_.

He throws me against the ground. I scramble as far away from him as I can get before his crony grabs my bicep and hoists me to my feet. The first elf guy walks over to me and grabs my other arm, and his friend lets go. As he begins to pull me toward the door, he squeezes my arm and blinding pain flourishes under his fingertips. Then there's a pop and crack which causes lights to dance before my eyes. _He just broke my arm with his bare hand._ If this guy's an elf, _goodbye, Legolas_.

"That is for lying to me," he whispers.

"Let me go!" I cry and pinch his arm. He squeezes tighter. More pain shoots up through my arm into my head, and for a brief moment, I'm afraid I will pass out.

I hold up my pepper spray, but just as I'm about to shoot him with it, he knocks the bottle from my hand.

"Nice try."

"Screw you," I hiss through gritted teeth.

He laughs. "I take no offense from your pathetic mortal insults."

Elf guy pulls me out of Starbucks and down the sidewalk. People stare at us as we pass then scurry off; no one tries to help me. I guess if I saw a giant elf walking down the street I'd probably run too.

"At least tell me where we're going," I gasp. My arm really hurts.

"Svartalfheim," he says.

"Where?"

"My home realm."

"Your home _realm_...?"

I am pulled farther down the street; then we turn a corner and my breath catches. There, sitting with its bottom stuck in the pavement, is a giant metal space ship. It's black and spiky and a ramp protrudes from the front of it, leading to the ground.

How are there no FBI or police or something out here? How the hell could officials just let some _giant space ship_ land in the middle of New York without doing anything? At least after what happened last year, you’d think some surveillance would have been put in place. _Surely_ after an extraterrestrial attack, the NYPD— _humanity in general_ —would be on high alert.

Two other elves walk down the ramp and come to a stop at the end, carrying black metal things that look vaguely like guns. They all wear the same expressionless masks and the same silver and black armor.

The elf holding me—he must be the leader—pushes me forward and says, "Walk."

So, I walk towards the space ship, cradling my broken arm gingerly with the other. More elves make their way down the ramp and I begin to notice that they are lining up on either side of us. My only path of escape is back. Or it would be if it weren't for the other elf's gun pressed against my spine.

I glance to my left and see a gap between two elves that looks big enough for me to fit through. It's likely to be my only chance, and I take it. Quickly, I turn and kick the elf behind me as hard as I can in _that_ general area, dodge the gun hurtling towards my head, and break into a dead sprint. I'm about five feet away from the line of elves when they begin to react. Now I'm three feet away. If I get past them, there's a building that I can run into and hide... get people's attention, call 911. A second later I am past most of the elves and I chance a look behind me. As I begin to I turn my head back around, I run into hard metal and fall to the ground. Looking up, I see leader standing over me, chuckling.

I am stuck.

"That was a very bad idea, child," he says. He reaches down and grabs my broken arm, squeezing tighter than he has the last two times. A chorus of muffled pops follow as he pulls me up and back towards the ship. More pain courses through my arm and I scream as loud as I can. 

I am absolutely, and completely stuck, and my arm is numb, but he _keeps squeezing!_

"Who the hell are you," I moan, trying to make my voice stop shaking.

He pushes me up the ramp and through the door without saying anything. The ramp retracts and the door closes, and we are left in an eerie purplish glow that emanates from some unseen light source.

The elf, who has probably succeeded in permanently screwing up my arm, turns to say something to three others. They hurry off and he turns back towards me slowly, smiling. After pushing me into a chair, he begins to strap me to it, pulling a black cord across my waist and tying my arms behind my back. Then he ties my legs to the legs of the chair and steps back to inspect his handiwork.

"Why am I here?" I ask, trying not to scream or cry. Trying to stay at least a little calm

"Because you are special. At least, I _think_ you are."

"You took me because you think I'm special?"

He shrugs, then nods. "Yes."

"But if you don't know, why'd you have to take me?"

"Because if I found that you _were_ the one I was looking for, and I had left you here on Midgard, then I would have to waste my time and return to this dreadful realm."

"I can assure you. I am not special—" I flinch as pain shoots into my shoulder "—in the slightest. I can't do anything for you, so please just let me go."

"I am terribly sorry, girl, but as it seems we are already flying. I can do nothing to help," he says. "I must say, though, you have been a delight to hunt down." He grins.

"Who are you!?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he walks over to a table, reaches into a box and pulls out a syringe filled with a dark blue, almost black, liquid. He walks back to me and grabs my face, squeezing my cheeks with one white hand as he tips my head back, exposing my neck. There's a prick and I can feel the needle slide into me. The elf presses the plunger and the stuff seeps into my bloodstream.

Finally, terror erupts in my chest, replacing my adrenaline-fueled cockiness. I can feel the dark stuff spreading through my veins. I am alone. And I'm going to die. I'm going to die right now, and my mom and friends won't know what happened. No one will ever know what happened to me.

" _Who are you?_ " I screech. " _Why am I here? Let me go! I just want to go home! Please just let me go! WHO ARE YOU?_ "

I have tunnel vision. My eyes are about to close, and I feel my head slump against my chest. The elf grabs my face again and forces me to look at him.

I can barely see, but I can tell he is enjoying this.

"I am Malekith," he says, a smile spreading across his face, "and I am your worst nightmare."


End file.
